


Last Chance Agreement

by HCN



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, James Bond Has Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HCN/pseuds/HCN
Summary: James had a lot of time to kill after washing up on that beach in Turkey, and a lot of time to think. Really, the appearance of this strange blond man was a blessing, even if James was ill-prepared to receive it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [the hurt meme](http://hydr0gencyan1de.tumblr.com/post/154087125509/hurt-meme), with [ayrtonwilbury](http://ayrtonwilbury.tumblr.com/)'s prompt: “you don’t care, nobody cares, just leave.”

James couldn’t remember who threw the first punch, but experience said it was him.

The final straw could have been anything. James didn’t know. He’d been drunk, but not as drunk as he usually was these days. Maybe that was the problem. Drinking didn’t usually cut back his reaction times, but it gave him something else to focus on, or just stopped him from focusing on anything altogether. Whatever – the effect was the same.

He couldn’t even remember what that French bastard had said to make him turn around and respond with his fists, only that he had.

He’d repeated the words over in his head as he himself up from the sand and went another hit. Blood trickled down his nose and his eyes stung for the bloody sand. People who had been in the shack a few moments before were pooling out onto the beach to watch two men beat on each other. Some of them James recognised. Most were only stopping in for the night before carrying on with their vacations.

This is exciting for them, James realised, a moment too late. This would be another fun story for these people to tell about their holiday in Turkey – this British asshole in his forties, throwing punches at this French prick who was, shockingly, strong enough to put up a little bit of a fight.

And James couldn’t remember what he said.

“Come on, old man,” the man was saying. “Is that all you can do?”

He had a split lip, and in the morning he’d have a black eye. Right now he probably still thought this was the funniest thing ever.

James stalked over to the man, fist raised. The man took a step back, like he’d just realised who it was that he’d provoked, but he didn’t back down, and he didn’t run. He righted himself, squaring his shoulders to James. James wasn’t intimidated, and neither was his fist. His punch met the man’s stomach and it didn’t stop when he doubled over, like he hadn’t really expected James to throw a second punch. Like that first punch had been a joke, something to do for show: part of the holiday experience.

This wasn’t a holiday for James. This was his retirement. The rest of his goddamn life.

Someone split them up – James heard French accent. One of this man’s friends. A worried teenage girl was clutching her face, her eyes wide, and beside her a woman was yelling at him. The man’s wife, by the look of it. Beside her a man with platinum blond hair and bright blue eyes sipped his drink and watched along with the rest of the crowd. When James caught his eye, he smiled.

Someone clapped a hand on James’ shoulder. “All right,” he said, in English. “I think it’s time you called it a night.”

James turned, eyes level with the man touching him. He had the expression of a man who had seen his fair share of drunken shit over the years and didn’t expect to be surprised by anything he saw tonight, but still looked tense. “I think you should go home.”

“James,” Talih said, now at his other side. She held his elbow. Talih couldn’t have expected this when she offered to let him stay with her. If he were a more decent man, he’d use this as an invitation to tap into his funds for something other than alcohol and go find a hotel somewhere. Give her some peace and quiet.

“James,” Talih repeated, her voice still soft but firmer now. “Let’s do what he says and go home.”

James wrenched his arm out from the other man’s hand. “Fine. After you.”

She looked at him sadly, then took his hand and pulled him away from the crowd. He heard someone shouting French profanity at his back as he let Talih lead him away, and he clenched his hand tighter around hers.

He was lightheaded, but not dizzy. The whole night felt like it was happening in a dream, and like a dream that he woke up from too quickly to fully recall, he couldn’t remember what the hell had made him snap.

*

“I don’t think you should go out tonight, James,” Talih said the next day. She sat on the end of the bed, her attention turned to something she held in her hands.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” James said.

His head ached with the sting of sobriety. There was an easy fix to this, but as much as he knew it would be within Talih’s right to tell him where to go, he didn’t want to give her an excuse to kick him out just then.

Stifling a groan, James rolled over and faced the wall. The light was as unwelcome as the memories he had from the night before, what few he had. He remembered the sand under his hands, and his blood dripping down his nose. He remembered meeting eyes with the platinum blonde man, and Talih’s hand on his elbow. He remembered wanting to vomit, but that might not have been a memory.

“What did that man say that set me off?” James finally asked.

“You don’t remember?”

“Can’t say I do,” James said.

Talih snorted. “Of course you don’t.”

So, it was like James thought – nothing worth throwing the first punch over.

His shoulder was wrecked; he’d swung with his bad one, out of habit or because drinking had numbed the pain the shrapnel caused him. His arm was probably the only reason that French bastard hadn’t walked away with worse than a split lip and soon-to-be black eye. James wondered how the rest of that holiday was going.

“It was stupid,” Talih finally said. “He made a comment about England, and when you were going back. I don’t know.”

“Right.”

“Do you want to go back?” Talih asked. James felt her move, undoubtedly turning to look at him.

“Do you want me to go?”

“I’m not asking you to leave,” Talih said. “If that’s what you think.”

It wasn’t the answer to the question he asked, but it told him enough.

James sat up and faced her. “Do you want to come back to England with me, Talih? Start a new life there?”

“And just leave everything here?”

“It’s not hard,” James said.

James could imagine how she was looking at him – a little bit sad, but mostly worried. God knew over what part. “No, James. You can stay with me if you want, for as long you want, but…” She took a breath, then shook her head. “I couldn’t do that. My family is here, my whole life. But I’m touched that you’d offer.”

*

James took to wandering through the city, leaving early in the morning and returning late at night, when Talih was too tired to pay him much attention. He ignored his pounding headaches, and the sting in his nose every time he made certain facial expressions; it was lucky for him he wasn’t the kind of man who felt compelled to smile at every stranger he met on the street and was unfortunate enough to make eye contact with.

It didn’t take him long to realise his hands were shaking, and that every noise grated on him like nails on a chalkboard. His shoulder ached more than it had since the initial shot. He wanted to run, but his legs detested him for thinking it. When he slept, he never woke refreshed.

If he could go back to that night and throw another punch, everything would be better. His hands would stopped shaking. As a kid he’d learned that hiking up his adrenaline levels was a fool-proof way for feeling better, and that punching things was a good way to solve his problems. It was a good reminder that nothing was really outside his limits – if he could hurt it, it didn’t have to hurt him. A gun in his hands had helped, when he’d had one. Restraint had been a fun strategy for these past few years, but that game was over.

If he’d landed one more punch, he was sure, he’d feel better now.

After a week spent wandering, James decided enough was enough and made his way back to the bar. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for – for the French man to still be there? For someone else to say something inconsequential enough for him to go off on?

A warm hand landed on his shoulder and a mouth grazed against his ear. “Why don’t you come back with me?”

James tensed. He cast a cursory look to the platinum blond man standing next to him. He hadn’t even seen him approach.

“Maybe once I have a drink.”

The man pulled his hand back from James’ shoulder, reached into his pocket, and offered James several neatly folded notes. “Take it,” he said. “Consider it on me.”

“And then I go back with you?”

“Yes. Yes, ideally.”

James laughed. But why not? What was stopping him from going back with this man? Nothing had stopped him from going home with Talih all those weeks ago. Who cared what this man’s intentions were?

*

They ended up in the man’s hotel room, James and his new platinum blond friend with squinting eyes when he smiled and teeth so white they didn’t look real, with clothes that had to be worth a fortune and his hands that moved too liberally down James’ body and towards his ass in the elevator. There were no questions about what this was about.

The man’s hands were tearing at his clothes as soon as the door closed behind them. They scrambled against each other for a moment, pulling at each other’s clothes and hair, biting each other’s lips. James waited for the man would draw blood, hoped for it. He didn’t. Instead he pinned James’ wrists against the wall and held him there as he swapped between long, wet kisses and quick bites that made James hiss, and made his cock twitch.

“I thought you were a man who liked a bit of pain,” the man murmured against his skin. He bit down again, and James felt his whole body shudder.

He forced his voice to stay even as he said, “I usually like to know who’s hurting me.”

“Usually,” the man repeated, but answered anyway. “What about – Raoul?”

“Sounds good to me.” James didn’t care if it was his real name or not.

“Your girl,” Raoul said, moving down to the collar of James’ shirt and tugging at it with his teeth. “She won’t care that you’re out here?”

James could already imagine Talih’s disappointment when he went back. A night alone would remind her how quiet her life was before he fell into it.

“She won’t give a damn.”

They moved to the bed. James let Raoul push him onto his back and climb over him, a heavy weight that pinned him in place. One of Raoul’s hands tangled roughly through James’ hair and pulled his head up, exposing James’ neck to Raoul’s teeth. His own hands curled through the fabric of Raoul’s jacket, grabbing handfuls of fabric and holding it. Raoul hissed when James caught his skin and bit him harder, pulling back and gathering James’ wrists over his head. James tugged, and to his relief found Raoul to be stronger than he expected.

He hissed when Raoul bit him, shuddered when Raoul scratched long lines down his sides, shivered when Raoul pulled his jeans down to his thighs, and gasped when Raoul grabbed him through his boxers. When Raoul touched him he squirmed, arching his hips up against Raoul’s hand and testing the strength of Raoul’s grip.

It didn’t take long for him to get hard, and when he did Raoul pulled away, letting go of his hands.

“That’s quite enough foreplay,” Raoul said.

He reached for a sachet of lube on the nightstand, and then with slick fingers Raoul moved his hand past James cock and slipped a finger inside him. It felt cold, and like it was happening to something else. He grabbed Raoul’s unoccupied arm and didn’t let go, closing his eyes to everything but Raoul.

He was good. By the time he was finished working James open, James was a sweaty, gasping wreck, spread out across the bed and writhing. Every time he tried to wrap a leg around Raoul, Raoul would pull back, withdrawing his fingers from inside James’ body and holding his thighs firmly against the bed.

“Damn it, Raoul,” James hissed. He shot Raoul his worst glare, what of it he could summon when he was like this.

“You can’t rush these things,” Raoul said. He flicked his eyes up from where he’d been eyeing James’ body. “Has no one told you that before?”

“I hear it all the bloody time. You were the one who said that was enough foreplay.”

Raoul snorted. “Suit yourself. If this is how you want it.”

It was. With every agonising inch James felt his nerves loosen, the pain replacing the tension in his muscles. Raoul’s hands scraped across James’ chest and clawed at his hips, and James fell further and further inside himself, his only awareness replaced by the most basic reactions – gasping and sweating, stretching his legs and curling his toes. His cock ached, and his whole body was covered by a heavy haze of desperate wanting. James didn’t know what it was he wanted, but he didn’t much care – whether for more pain, or for Raoul to grab his cock and finish him, he didn’t differentiate. James only wanted more of it.

Raoul thrust into him with a particularly rough force and James gasped, arching up against his hips. Fingers held tightly to his side – any minute now, and Raoul would be done. The prospect made James whine.

“Hush,” Raoul said. His voice came to James through a fog. James couldn’t tell if it was his thoughts that distorted the words or if Raoul was slurring. “You’re almost done now. Hold on now, hold on. You’re almost there, James.”

As Raoul said his name he gasped and leaned forward, falling over James like a dead weight. He was so close to finishing. His breath on James’ chest was hot and wet, too warm and too human. His inhumanly perfect teeth found their way to James’ nearest nipples and when Raoul finished he bit down harder, and the added pain brought James crashing over the edge.

*

When he came to with a shuddering breath, Raoul was stretched out on the bed beside him, an arm flung over James’ bare chest and a blanket covering them both. It took a minute to remember where he was, and another minute to settle.

As a test James rolled over onto his side, only for Raoul to tighten his hold. It wouldn’t be hard to slip away if he really wanted to, but instead James found himself settling against the bed. 

*

“You passed out so quickly,” Raoul noted when James opened his eyes. “I was worried for a moment that I had been too rough with you.”

James took stock of where he was. The windows where open, letting the sun stream in. The room still smelled like sex, and whatever cologne Raoul wore. It was already nine in the morning. James heard cars on the streets below.

Raoul sat at the small table, nibbling at a croissant with a plate of food in front of him. A laptop sat open in front of him, but he was watching out the window.

“It’ll take more than that before I’ll say you’re too rough with me.”

“Maybe if you want round two I won’t hold back so much.” He pushed a second place with two muffins on it across the table in James’ general direction. “Muffin?”

James flopped back on the bed. “I’ll pass.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Raoul said. “I couldn’t eat these both.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It would have been rude to not bring anything back for you.”

“How long have you been awake?” James asked.

“A few hours,” Raoul said. He checked his watch. “Four, to be exact.”

James shut his eyes, and forced himself to breathe. His head was swimming. All of him ached, but it wasn’t the usual weight on his joints and thick, cotton feeling in his mouth that he’d come to regard as normal. The pain felt sharper this morning, like he’d just woken up for the first time in months.

James could have stayed in bed, easily, but forced himself to catch his breath and sit up, and to swing both his legs over the side and resting his elbows on his knees, his forehead in his hands. He shrugged his shirt off and shivered in the chilly morning air; somehow he felt less naked with his bare chest than with it hanging off of him in a poor attempt to cover himself, especially when he saw what Raoul was wearing. Prada. Of course.

“Will your girlfriend expect you home today?” Raoul asked.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” James said, instinctively. “And to be quite honest if she expects anything from me than she’s stupider than I’d have thought.”

“Oh?” Raoul asked, his voice thick with false concern. “You think she’s stupid?”

“Well she brought me into her house, didn’t she?”

“So did I,” Raoul said. “Do you think I’m stupid, James?”

“This isn’t your home.”

“I suppose it’s not.”

They sat quietly for a moment, with only the sounds from the street outside. Finally, when it looked like Raoul really wasn’t going to say anything else, James went for a shower.

A cursory glance in the mirror confirmed every one of Raoul’s long scratches and fast, hard bites from the night before, now imprinted across his body. He touched a few tender spots that looked like they might bruise, enjoying the sharp his of pain he felt as he pushed his fingers against the skin.

James’ eyes travelled to the scar on his shoulder, but he didn’t linger.

When he stepped out of the bathroom twenty minutes later his hair was dripping and he was flushed. Raoul looked away from his laptop and back up to James’ body, and to the marks he left.

“They suit you,” Raoul said. He turned to his laptop for a moment and quickly touched his fingers across the keyboard before approaching James.

He raised a hand; James hated how he took a step back on instinct, especially when the back of Raoul’s knuckles rested so gently against his cheek. “If we had time, I would love so much to add more to your little collection.”

His hand moved down James’ neck, to his collarbone, then moved across his chest to where the shrapnel from that bullet sat under his skin. James shrugged off Raoul’s arm and tried to step past him, but in a fast motion Raoul grabbed James by the shoulder and turned him around to face him. “Let me see.”

“Like hell,” James snapped, and Raoul dug his fingers deeper into James wrist.

“You’ve let me see so much else of you,” he said. “What’s so terrible about this?” He pressed his lips against the wound, only for a moment before James’ fist connected with the side of his face.

Raoul was fast, and James was out of practice. He already had a good grip on James’ wrist; it didn’t take much for Raoul to twist him around, and with the shrapnel from the bullet lodged so near the joint, he didn’t need to do much before James cried out from the pain.

He ended up with his face against the wall, his arm pinned behind him and Raoul’s teeth at the side of his neck.

“In the future I suggest not doing that,” Raoul murmured.

“Oh, so there’s a future now.”

“If you want there to be,” Raoul said. “And I think, James, that you do.”

James’ skin crawled at the sound of his name in Raoul’s mouth, but he didn’t say anything. Any attempt he made to stand in a better position was pointless; Raoul only pinned him harder against the wall for his effort and pulled his wrist further up his back. Finally, after a few weak attempts at getting away, James leaned forward against the wall and stopped struggling.

Raoul eased his grip on James’ arm. “Was that so bad?”

“What do you want?” James asked.

“I’m only curious,” Raoul said. He stepped away from James, giving him a whole foot of space to roll his shoulder.

“It’s healed now.”

“It isn’t,” Raoul said. “It will take more than just leaving it alone for that wound to heal.”

“And what do you recommend?”

Raoul moved a hand forward, resting it on James’ uninjured shoulder. The other crossed his damp chest and settled over the bullet, massaging it gently. He didn’t stop when James winced against the pain.

“A knife, to cut it out,” Raoul said. “If you let me I would do it myself.”

“What are you? A doctor?”

“No,” Raoul said. “But I am a man who has cut bullets out of myself before, and others. It isn’t hard. But you know that.”

He looked away from the wound and back to James. A note of recognition coloured his expression, and James wondered from where had they met before.

Raoul carried on, never minding James’ silence. “You’ve had this – what? Two months now?”

“About that.”

“I thought so.” Raoul smiled to himself, then shook his head. His fingers returned to the discolouration, followed by his mouth. “This is what has taken you out of the game. The final wound suffered by a man who has endured many injuries in his time.”

Realisation bled through James, followed by irritation.

“So is that what this is about?” James asked. He gestured towards the room, as though that made it clearer.

Raoul looked around, as though expecting to see something. “What?”

“You were looking for company. A familiar face.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life, James,” Raoul said. “Not before you picked that fight the other night.”

James’ lip twitched at the memory; he promptly ignored it.

“Identity doesn’t matter for us,” James said. “But you recognised something, didn’t you?” _The same thing I’m recognising in you_.

It was embarrassing how late the realisation came, but when it did it was welcome. Raoul was a steady man, a careful one. Whatever happened the night before might have been reckless, bringing a strange man he’d only seen before picking a fight, but it hadn’t been impulsive. It certainly hadn’t been a risk on his part, not a great one at any rate. Raoul must have measured him up at some point and compared James against himself, and then decided he wouldn’t be a problem.

He hadn’t been wrong.

“You captured my attention,” Raoul said, noncommittally. “I thought it would be fun, to bring you back.”

“Company, then,” James said. “You were lonely.”

“Not lonely, no,” Raoul said. “Although interesting that that is where your thoughts go first.”

“Then familiarity. Is that it I remind you of something.”

Raoul laughed. This close to James, it sounded far too loud and obvious. “Would that not be so narcissistic?” he asked. “To bring you back to my hotel because I recognise myself in you, and then fuck you?”

“It might be,” James said. “But I went back with you, too, didn’t I?”

Raoul’s laughter stopped, replaced by a smile. “Yes. Yes, you did.”

James was beginning to get a picture of what it was about. Familiarity. He didn’t know who Raoul was or what he’d been doing that had him pulling bullets out of himself, but the details didn’t matter. State sanctioned or not, they were the same type.

“When you first saw me,” James said. He took a step away from Raoul, hating to show the other man his back but needing some bloody space between them. He circled closer to the bed then turned around, crossing his arms and looking at Raoul like he was interrogating him. “What did that French bastard say to piss me off that much?”

“Something about England,” Raoul said with a fond smile, “and whether you traded her for something younger, and sexier.”

James thought of Talih and, improbably, of M. He stood by what he’d thought the day before, that one more punch would have made things okay.

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

“I’m sure that won you many points with your girl, no?”

James hadn’t missed how uncomfortable Talih had been around him since. Even if he was spending more time out of the house, he couldn’t ignore her lingering over-the-shoulder glances, or how delicately she touched him at night when he collapsed back against her bed. Her hands ran gently across his body in a way only possible from a woman trying to convince herself that what she touched was delicate, and needed that extra grace.

Talih made a mistake, bringing him in.

“You can imagine.”

“I’m sure,” Raoul said. “So, James? MI6?”

James looked at Raoul, resigned. Of course the man knew. He wondered how long Raoul had been sitting on that piece of information.

Since that fight, probably. Since he looked at James and decided he wanted to fuck him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

“No, of course not,” Raoul agreed. For someone who had been up late and awake for several hours now, he looked impossibly chirpy – if that was a word James felt comfortable using for a man like Raoul. Looking at the tug of his lips, James decided that yes, he could.

“So what now?”

“That depends entirely on if you want round two,” James said.

Raoul smiled. “Check-out is not until noon. I think we have time for one more round.”

*

Talih paused in the doorway to her bedroom, then relaxed. “You made it home safely.”

“I did,” James said. He watched her cross the room and unbutton her shirt, hanging it over a chair. Her bra followed. Both were replaced by a loose fitted t-shirt. For the whole process, Talih didn’t look at him.

She’d expected him to be gone, he realised.

Talih flopped down on the bed beside him and hitched herself up on one shoulder. Her other hand reached out to touch him through his shirt, a touch so light he could barely feel it. She leaned in and kissed him softly. Everything she did was just about the exact opposite of how Raoul would have done it; James’ back still stung from where Raoul’s nails made themselves at home in his skin, and on his chest were Raoul’s teeth marks from where he’d devoured him.

James took Talih’s hands and guided them away from his cock.

She looked up, squinting. “You are okay, right?”

“I’m fine.”

He tried to think back to the last time they’d done anything together that didn’t involve sex or drinking, or him being laid up in bed, miserable and in pain. Disgusted, he found he couldn’t, although that didn’t come as a shock to him.

* 

“You know,” James said, absently and seemingly to no one in particular, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me.”

He bagged two loaves of bread and raised his head, looking down the aisle to where Raoul’s back faced him. Raoul didn’t move; he only stood there. A moment later he reached down and lifted a bottle of whiskey from the bottom shelf. James could hardly believe the man was shopping in the same corner shop where he was grabbing his dinner for the night, not least which because they were too far from Raoul’s hotel for this to be a coincidence. Raoul was a man with good taste, and standards. James’ new life had none of that.

Raoul rounded the corner and walked past him, smiling ever so slightly as he made his way to the counter. He paid in cash, and walked out.

When James was done paying and left, Raoul was waiting for him outside.

“You are turning into a true house man, aren’t you?” Raoul asked. His eyes skimmed the bags James was holding. “Your girlfriend must love you for that.”

“She appreciates the help,” James said.

It was walking next to Raoul that really left James conscious of their differences – Raoul in his Gucci shirt and crisp white pants, and James, who really looked like he could stand to have a shower.

“You don’t need to be anywhere?”

“How long do you need me for?” James asked.

They didn’t make it far before Raoul turned a corner and pulled them both into the small space behind a shop, locking the doors behind them and holding it closed with Raoul’s full weight.

He pushed James down to his knees and settled his hand at the back of his neck, scraping his hands through James’ scalp and resting it on the back of his neck just as James finished yanking Raoul’s trousers open. He braced himself against Raoul’s thighs as he ran his lips down the length of his cock, kissing ever so lightly before Raoul simply grabbed him and forced his cock down James’ throat.

James closed his eyes and let Raoul decide the rhythm.

The floor was hard under his knees but his legs felt soft. His own hands held tight to whatever they could grab to focus on. He’d sucked enough cock in his lifetime that it came naturally to him, something to do when he wanted it or when he was bored, or to do to get out of a bad situation. It had been a long time since he’d been so hungry for another person, wrapping his lips around as much of Raoul as he could take and swallowing all of him.

All he could focus on was the heavy hand on the back of his neck, a warm weight settled there.

There wasn’t time to draw it out, and so Raoul made their short time together count, fucking James’ mouth hard before finishing down his throat. James choked for a moment but swallowed that, too, taking what parts of Raoul he could.

When Raoul drew back James looked up at him. Their eyes caught. Then, Raoul lowered his hand to touch James’ cheek and hold him firmly by the jaw, caressing him. He ran a thumb over James’ lips and pushed deeper into his mouth, separating his teeth.

“You have not yet failed to surprise me, James,” Raoul said. He nodded. “One day I can only hope to return the favour.”

“We have time now.”

“Ah, but we don’t,” Raoul said as he buckled himself back into his trousers. It was embarrassing how shaken James was, and how quickly Raoul slipped back into his regular disposition. “And anyway, I wouldn’t do something like that here, of all places.”

He waved his hand around the room, as though for demonstration. “Remember me, James. I think I owe you for this.”

* 

James did remember Raoul, that night in the shower. He remembered Raoul’s cock in his mouth and Raoul’s fingers inside of him, his hands wrapped around James and his nails buried in James’ side. James leaned against the tiles of the bathroom wall as he gripped himself, biting his teeth and curling his fingers against the tiles. Supporting his weight on his arm dug the shrapnel from the bullets deeper into his muscles, twining and twisting painfully against his nerves.

It ached, horribly, and when he finished the sting of the metal inside him added an extra bite, just in case he’d even thought about diving into the hazy state he could sometimes bring over himself after getting off.

James leaned against the cool tiles, his face warm and flushed.

*

Like the days before Raoul, and before that scrap, the days afterwards fell into a forgetful cloud. Then one night he found himself waking up around nine in the evening to the sound of someone knocking at the door, and to Talih opening it. There was the faint murmur of voices, followed by a few footsteps. Then Talih called for him.

“James!” she shouted. “Someone is at the door to see you.”

He knew who it was before he turned the corner and spotted Raoul. “You could have picked a more sociable time, don’t you think?”

“Do you know him?” Talih asked, her voice hushed.

“A former colleague,” James said. “Back from when I used to work.”

Talih gave tight grimace. “Invite him in if you want. You could use the company.”

“Don’t worry yourself about that,” Raoul interrupted. “He can keep company with me.”

Talih looked between the two of them. She looked tired. Not for the first time James considered whether the right thing to do wouldn’t be to go back to their room and grab what little he had that was his, and then leave with Raoul.

“I’m going out,” Talih said. “Come in. What did you say your name was?” She held the door wider; Raoul accepted her gracious invitation and let himself in, gently touching her arm. He slid off his jacket and handed it off to James, while Talih walked back through to the other room.

Raoul hummed gently. “She loves you, doesn’t she?”

“It doesn’t matter,” James said. “I have funds, if it comes to that.”

“Going somewhere, James?” Raoul asked.

Talih chose just that moment to walk back in through from the bedroom, her coat hanging off her and one of her large purses in the crook of her arm. She looked cute in her flowing dress with her hair let down around her shoulders, and a touch of make-up on her face. She looked tired, like she could sleep forever.

“I’m meeting with some girls,” Talih said. “Don’t make a mess. I’ll be back late.”

She looked between the two of them. He saw the understanding slowly dawn on her face. What she understood, he didn’t know – that they’d fucked less than a week ago, that they’d never really been colleagues. That James was on his way out of her life, soon to be handed off to the next person who might think they wanted to take him. That if he didn’t let Raoul escort him out of her life, she’d do it herself.

“Have fun,” Raoul was saying to her. She forced a smile in his direction, then left.

“She _really_ loves you,” Raoul said, and James hated him for it.

He went to get a drink for Raoul, regretting that there wasn’t anything nice. It never occurred to James that he might have guests here, or that anyone would even know this was where he was staying for that matter. When he returned to the living room and handed Raoul a bottle of beer, Raoul accepted it with no comment. He gave a nod up towards James, toasting in his general direction although what they were meant to be celebrating James didn’t know.

“How did you find me?” James asked.

“You are not a difficult man to find in a crowd.”

“Some would disagree.”

Raoul nodded. “Indeed. But I’m not _some,_ and I am very interested in you.”

James took a sip of his drink and set it back down. “Couldn’t get enough of me last week?”

It was getting chilly, with the sun setting outside. They sat in silence for a while before finally, Raoul spoke up. “Where do you think you’ll go, once you’re finished here?”

“What makes you think I’m finished?”

“Men in our line of work always have an escape plan.”

“Our line of work,” James repeated, rolling the words over his tongue and considering what each them meant.

 _Our_ line of work. It was the only thing they had in common – nothing highlighted that more than when he sat across from Raoul, himself unshaved in whatever wrinkled clothes he’d found with a jacket thrown over, and Raoul looking like he just stepped off a Gucci runway.

And yet, under all of that was something binding. A kinship, or sorts.

“Did you miss the part where I abandoned my country for something sexier.”

“Did you abandon her, or did she abandon you?” Raoul asked. He cocked his head to the side and squinted. “I wasn’t always my own boss, you know,” Raoul said. “Once, I belonged to someone else just as much as you do now.”

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

“But you don’t belong to yourself.”

“What do you want?” James snapped. “Sympathy? Comradery?”

James had his questions, of course he did, but the details somehow seemed inconsequential; it didn’t matter who Raoul used to work for, whether it was government sanctioned and if so which government – it was all the same in the end. It was all in the past, and everything got mixed up there. He’d hacked off pieces of his soul to leave it behind him, but that was the price one paid for moving on.

“I have an offer for you.”

“Are you going to offer me to defect?” James sneered.

“Defect from what?” Raoul asked. “You said yourself – no one owns you.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Give me your connections,” Raoul said. “I need a man with your history. It would be a shame to watch a man like you rot away in Turkey.”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” James said.

“Go back to England,” Raoul told him. “And while you’re there, do me a favour.”

All James could think to say was, “So you do want me to defect.”

Raoul smiled. “If you must call it that. But you want it to, don’t you? I can tell. James, I have been in your position before. I know betrayal when I see it.”

Anger, now, which came as a shock and – James wouldn’t lie here – a relief.

He gestured between the two of them. “Whatever this is, whatever we have in common – it isn’t that,” he said. “And while your company is great and the fucking was fantastic, I don’t think you’re going to find whatever it is you’re looking for here.”

“Then don’t think of it as giving me what I’m looking for,” Raoul said. “Do it for yourself. I am offering to help you, James.”

James couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that, and laughing loudly for that matter. He didn’t even know Raoul; they’d seen each other, what, twice? A third time, if he counted the brief eye contact they made when he pushed himself up off the ground. Raoul hadn’t looked away. Raoul had recognised him, and decided then that he wanted him.

“I think I’m being very fair to you.”

James stood, and turned away from Raoul. He couldn’t stand to look at him.

“You’re not,” James said. “And what do you know about betrayal, anyway?”

“All there is,” Raoul said, simply. “I know how it stays with you until you get even.”

James thought about the fight, and that French prick. His fist still ached for another punch.

But he didn’t want that – he wanted to go back to the one place in the world that would deny him his return. And even if they did take him back, Raoul was right; he’d be hearing _take the bloody shot_ for the rest of his life, he was sure of it.

James could hear him standing, and crossing the room to come greet him. It wasn’t a surprise when Raoul gripped his arms and turned him around, nor when Raoul slammed him back against the wall.

This time James wasn’t so passive. He pushed back against Raoul, forcing the other man to strengthen his hold or else risk stumbling several steps back. It suddenly all at once it dawned on James how weak and out of shape he was. He’d lost his touch. There really wasn’t any chance he could go back.

He pushed harder at Raoul, and Raoul leaned his arm across his chest. His elbow dug where the bullet shrapnel was lodged inside him – that had to be coincidence.

“I’m trying to help you,” Raoul snarled. “I’m giving you what no one gave me.”

“I don’t want it,” James snapped. “You’re wasting your time.”

“It wouldn’t be such a waste if only you accept,” Raoul said, his voice gentle now. “After everything, is this what you want? To waste away here?”

“After everything,” James said. “You don’t what you’re talking about.”

“But I do,” Raoul said. “You and I both know about the details – they don’t matter. But I know betrayal when I see it. I can tell when someone’s desperate. Tell me, how are things working here with your girl. Does she love you yet?”

At the mention of Talih a flash of anger flushed through James. “Keep her out of this.”

“She cares about you, you know,” Raoul said. “But she can’t help you, can she? I can.”

“You don’t care, nobody cares,” James snapped. He shoved Raoul backwards, dizzy with rage and knowing that he only overpowered Raoul because he let him. “Just leave.”

Raoul only sighed and shook his head, and straightened his shirt. “I suppose if that’s how you want it. You’ve clearly made up your mind, haven’t you? If England doesn’t care about you, then the fuck the rest of the world.”

*

James invited himself to a bottle of beer the next morning and went back to bed. Talih had stolen most of the blankets, wrapping them around herself and facing the wall. No matter; he’d been more uncomfortable. He could warm up later, with a hot shower if he wanted. He could go to the other room and grab another blanket, or sit himself down on the couch in front of the spot heater and warm up there. If he wasn’t making a move to change his current situation, clearly it couldn’t have been bothering him that much.

He sighed, and leaned back against the headboard.

Talih hadn’t said anything when she got in the night before, simply joining him in bed. They fucked, which was most of what they did when they were together, and he finished her off with his hand. Then she rolled over and fell asleep, and he lay on his back until finally – finally – sleep came to him.

She was a beautiful woman, and a kind one. She’d been nice enough to take him in and give him a place to stay when she first realised his situation. It probably hadn’t helped that they’d both been drinking on the beach when she invited him back, but she’d been sober when she invited him to stay. She was friendly, too. Social. Given a choice, he imagined she’d like to go out often. Easy to get along with. If they met at a different time, James imagined himself taking advantage of all these qualities instead of just fucking her and living in her house. If he were a different man, he could imagine himself liking her, even if never loving her; he didn’t know her well enough to even speculate.

He was himself, though. A fucking tragedy – although this time, at least, he could say that he brought it on himself.

Prying himself off the mattress, James softly walked around the room and gathered up what he recognised as his. Most of it amounted to clothes and money. He threw the empty beer bottles away in the trash and washed a few dishes. The pain killers he pocketed, along with whatever cash he had – he left her a few notes, although nowhere near enough.

Then he was gone.

*

Briefly he considered just going back to Raoul’s room, but the odds of Raoul still being there were slim and so James checked into the hotel, paid up-front in cash, and made himself at home on the oversized mattress he was given. When he woke up he lay in bed for a long time, telling himself that he enjoyed the quiet and tranquillity. It was nice, and peaceful. Nothing about the room felt too empty, or vacant. The hotel was fancy enough that it brought back memories of travelling for work – some memories, anyway. He’d stayed in some real shitholes over the years, all in the name of Queen and country.

Well – he didn’t need to do that anymore. He could stay wherever the hell he liked, surviving on the savings he’d built over the years that he should have declared, but hadn’t. God only knew what he’d ever thought he’d end up using them for, but Raoul was right – men like him always had an escape plan.

There would be no more shitty hotels on shitty missions. He didn’t know how long his small fortune would sustain him, but looking at how things were going it wouldn’t matter for too much longer.

That night he made himself at home in the bar. Every time someone walked past he found himself raising his head and checking to see if it was Raoul. It never was.

Around midnight a woman took the seat beside him. She was beautiful, and young. She smelled like she’d showered earlier in the evening, with something flowery that didn’t really suit her dark allure. James had no idea why she was sitting beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” she said.

“I checked in today,” he said. “Should I know you?” He tilted his head, eyeing her over curiously. What the hell did she want?

“No,” she said. “I suppose you shouldn’t.”

There was familiarity in how she sat, though, like she knew something about him. He imagined she must have seen it – whatever _it_ was. That he was completely wasted, maybe. That he thought she was hot, but that

She smiled at him. “My name is Séverine. Have you had enough to drink tonight?”

James snorted. “I don’t think I know what you mean, Séverine.”

“I mean,” she said, and repositioned herself as she spoke so her knees faced him, “that if you’re done, I wouldn’t mind some company.”

James would honestly have been surprised if he was even able to get it up, never mind give this girl anything that might make it worth her time. He was also still surprised that something as pretty and young as her was so bold, and with him nonetheless. He was a state. James couldn’t think of a time he’d ever looked or been worse off than right in that moment.

It was that that clued him in to just how wrong this was.

He sat up, shaking off his stray, errant thoughts. “All right,” he said. “Let’s say I have. Where would we go?”

“Back to my room,” she said. “I have a wine, and champagne, and… maybe something to help you sober up, no? I have a balcony, and a view. I think you’ll like it, Mr Bond.”

 _Perfect_ , James found himself thinking. _I can throw myself off if this night gets too bad._

*

There were biscuits in Séverine’s room, and coffee. Her room was nothing to scoff at; it was a large room with a front suite and two doors connecting to separate bedrooms. Everything was grand; the curtains were made of silk, finely embroidered just like the rug, and the dim lighting refracted off the crystal chandeliers. It looked elegant – the romantic sort of room that James imagined bringing a partner to.

“Thank god,” James said, as he took his first sip of coffee. “I can’t bloody stand tea.”

“Me neither,” she said, taking a seat next to him. “It’s too sweet, and there isn’t nearly enough caffeine.”

There was a good foot between them. Pretty as she was, and as great as her body looked, James didn’t think he’d be getting much closer than that. She gave off all the right signs that she was interested, but that was as far as she went. Séverine kept glancing over to the door when she thought James wasn’t noticing.

“So what’s a young woman like you doing by herself in Turkey, in a room like this,” James asked, gesturing around them.

Séverine hesitated. “I’m here for business.”

“You aren’t alone,” James said, like it was a fact.

She sat back against the sofa, leaning her arm on the back of the sofa and resting two of her fingers against her forehead. “Would your decision to be here change if I said no?”

A smile stretched across her dark lips, holding her skin perfectly in place. James wondered how dark the bags under her eyes really were, if she took off her make-up.

“I suppose that depends on if anyone will be angry that you brought a strange man back to your room with you,” he said.

“No,” Séverine said. “You don’t need to worry about that. I promise.”

She brought a hand down to his knee, but didn’t make a move to go any further with that train of thought. James held her wrist in his own hand. He felt her tense, but then relax again and lean back against the sofa, smiling gently at him, or whatever passed as gentle for her.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” James said. “Usually I’d be flattered. This would be a fun way to spend the night, in your company. But this isn’t about that, is it?”

“It can be about whatever you want,” Séverine said.

“Why did you bring me back?” James asked.

Séverine smiled. “Why are you so eager to be suspicious of me?”

He didn’t, and he knew that she knew that as well. James sat back and watched her. _Why do you take me for an idiot, only thinking with my cock?_

“You seem so eager for this to all go wrong,” Séverine said. And then she leaned forward, her mouth landing on the side of his. She didn’t flinch away from the scrape of his stubble against her soft cheek, or the reek of booze on his breathe. When she pulled away she was still smiling. “Let me take care of you, until you sober up. If it really matters to you, we can discuss business tomorrow.”

*

“I hope you were sleeping well,” James heard when he woke the next day. He lifted his head, only to see Raoul standing in the doorway with two plates of breakfast. One he handed to Séverine, before he gestured for her to leave, and the other he handed to James as he sat down. He pulled James into a sitting position, and James let him. He stared stupidly at the man.

“What’s this about?” James asked.

“I wanted to ask, one more time, if you were so sure that you didn’t want to come with me,” Raoul said. “I leave tomorrow, and it would be a shame if you changed your mind and couldn’t tell me. Especially now that you seem to have nowhere to go.”

“I don’t need anywhere to go,” James said. “I’m fine.”

“I suppose so,” Raoul said. “You have your money. But tell me first, why have you not gone back to England?”

James glared at him.

“I have a specific use for you,” Raoul said, ignoring the lack of answer to his question. “Something only you can do for me.”

“What?” James asked. “Suck your cock again?”

“Oh, please James,” Raoul said. “I have no shortage of men or women willing to do that for me.”

James watched. He took a bite of the food Raoul bought him. His stomach protested; he ignored it.

“I need you to return to England for me,” Raoul said. He raised a hand before James could protest. “It is something _only_ you could do. I need you to go back, and while you’re there I need you to act on my behalf.”

“I can’t. Let’s say I wanted to – they wouldn’t have me back.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Raoul said. “They would. They’d welcome you with open arms.”

“If it was as easy as going back, do you think I wouldn’t have gone already?” James demanded. “It isn’t so simple.”

“You can’t match betrayal with silence, James. It won’t work.”

James flicked his eyes back at Raoul.

“They will take you back,” Raoul said. “And anyway, because you will be going back in my stead – not to be England’s whore again – you won’t be betraying yourself.”

“You make it sound like it’s so easy,” James said. “Like I can go back. There’s a reason I’m here. I don’t think they’re particularly fond of me.”

“You wouldn’t be going back to them; you’d be mine. Their mistake isn’t that they threw you away – their mistake will be that they’d take you back and assume that all you’d want is for them to welcome you again. Oh, don’t look at me that way. Surely you don’t think you’re so important that you’re the only one she’s thrown away, James,” Raoul barked out a harsh laugh. “It’s all lies. You could go back, if you wanted, and she would find a use for you until she could kill you for real. But betrayal is forever, whether you hurt her or not.”

When James didn’t answer right away, Raoul continued. “I do care about you, James. I understand you – how could I not? And now, I have a use for you, and it’s personal.”

James looked back to Raoul. All he thought to say, dumbly, was, “You were thrown out.”

Raoul nodded. “I have a place for you. It’s more than she can give you. Do you want that? Do you want your revenge, James?”

An old bite on his soul he’d hidden ached again, the long-rested rage that he’d tried to poison forcing itself to the front of his thoughts.

Because yes – yes, he did want this.


End file.
